


St George and the Demon

by Cheeseanonioncrisps



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dragons, Gen, Middle Ages, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Saint george - Freeform, Snake!Crowley - Freeform, St George and the dragon, at least pre-most of canon, aziraphale being Concerned, character injury, crowley being an overdramatic bitch, dragon!Crowley, knight!Aziraphale, medieval times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 08:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheeseanonioncrisps/pseuds/Cheeseanonioncrisps
Summary: Aziraphale has been sent by Heaven to help a knight slay a dragon. Crowley has been sent by Hell to hang out on a hilltop hoarding gold and threatening to burn people's houses down. They're... going to have to sort something out.





	St George and the Demon

The stranger came into the village late one evening, riding a white horse and wearing a suit of silver armour that gleamed in the moonlight. Good armour, thought the landlord as he patiently gave him directions, he'd have to go up the hill the next morning[1] and see if he could find any scraps of it that had survived the flames. Even if you couldn't fix it up, you could still melt it down. And you didn't have to worry about bones or flesh or anything horrible like that— most of the time you'd be lucky to find ash by the morning.

Still, he seemed like a nice bloke, the stranger. Older than most of the knights they got coming round, and seemingly less inclined to get blind drunk and start smashing things up with his sword the night before, which was useful from the landlord's perspective[2]. He didn't even seem inclined to wait until daylight.  
"Oh no, best get it over with," he said, like it was just some unpleasant but necessary job he had to get through. Like he might talk about cleaning his armour, or mucking out his stables[3].  
"Are you sure?" the landlord asked. "You don't want to get a good night's sleep first?"  
"Yes, quite sure." The stranger said. "Good is ever vigilant."  
"Only it always seems... worse, when people wake it up."  
The stranger smiled. "I won't be harmed. God is on my side."  
Ah, one of _those_ , the landlord thought. The stranger had seemed different from the usual cocky young lads, heading outside of their father's castles for the first time with a brand-new knighthood and a variety of deadly weapons that would, in theory, be used for the preservation of peace.  
In practise, there are surprisingly few ways you can preserve peace on the end of the sword, and so normally they ended up just roving the countryside in small gangs, fighting each other and looking for big things to kill. Having encountered more than his fare share of them since the Trouble started, the landlord had frankly begun to see the things that happened at the top of the hill as almost a form of pest control. It would be more than a few centuries before the term 'natural selection' would be invented, but the landlord had noticed that there seemed to be a lot more young knights around these days who were actually capable of problem solving _beyond_ 'hit it with a sword until one of you stops moving'. 'Tactical retreat' was another phrase that wouldn't exist for a while yet, but at least some of them seemed to be getting the idea[4].

However they would also sometimes get the religious ones. The ones that seemed to be under the impression that faith alone could stop flame. This was, of course, true if you read your bible— which the landlord couldn't, being unable to spell much more than his name and having no Greek or Latin— 'faith the size of a mustard seed can turn back mountains', was the phrase he'd heard one of the holy knights use once. The landlord was an uneducated, simple man of lowly origins, and obviously unequipped to judge whether God actually did walk at the side of every one of those pious men he'd seen ride up the hill. However, from experience he knew that if He was then He must have been walking quite a bit to the side, possibly by several miles. These men generally turned out the same way as the ones who just went to show off.

"We've had a lot of people go up that hill," he said, hoping the stranger would take the hint, even if it would mean saying goodbye to that fine suit of armour. "Not many coming down."  
"Must get a lovely view of the village from up there, though." The stranger said cheerfully.  
"I wouldn't know."  
"Oh well, must be off." The stranger looked nervously down at his horse, made a clicking noise with his tongue and wiggled the reigns slightly. "Come along then." He turned back to the landlord, "I er... might pop in on my way back. So, you know, see you then[5]."  
After a moment of awkward silence the landlord took pity on the stranger, reached out and slapped his horse on the flank, causing it to start trotting forward.  
"Oh, er, thank you." The stranger rode off towards the hill, sitting on the horse like a— well, it would be a while before anybody in that part of the world saw a potato, let alone enough to put in a sack. The simile wouldn't have really worked anyway. Sacks of potatoes don't tend to cling so desperately to the reigns, or flinch every time the horse moves its head, like they're afraid it might turn around and bite them.

Deep in its cave, the dragon slumbered on a pile of gold. It was less comfortable than it looked, and frankly the dragon sometimes wondered exactly what the point of having all this gold was, if you couldn't go out and so much as buy a drink with it. It wriggled its tail now in its sleep, trying to dislodge a particularly large chest that was poking it in the back, and the resulting cascade sent not just the chest but several other golden items rolling down the pile, including a gold throne that bounced off its head.  
It stirred with an angry hiss and shook itself off with a noise that could almost be mistaken for human speech. "Bugger this," it sounded like.  
As it lay down and tried to get back to sleep, it heard a noise coming up the hill. The sound of hooves, and someone whistling a hymn. The dragon uncoiled itself and unfolded a pair of black, feathery wings. Time for some _fun_.

The stranger had tethered his horse to a small tree a bit further down the hill, and gone the rest of the way on foot. Now he stood at the top, by the mouth of the cave, his sword raised and his armour glinting in the moonlight. "Hello?" he said, in the tones of one who would really prefer it if nobody heard him. "Hello?"  
He was answered by a loud hiss, the rustle of scales and then a sudden burst of flame that only just missed hitting him. In fact, he was pretty sure it singed the edge of his cape. The stranger scowled and lifted up his helm. _"Crowley!"_  
There was another hiss, with what sounded like an "oh shit!" at the end of it, and then some more rustling of scales and feathers before a human figure stepped out of the[6] cave. "Aziraphale?" it said, "Are you alright? I didn't get you did I?"

Aziraphale was what he would he would later describe as 'in a bit of a state', and what anyone else would have to describe as 'royally pissed off'. He was surprisingly good at it. Not a patch on some of the lords of Hell, Crowley thought, but then they were in a rage almost constantly, while Aziraphale hardly ever was, which made it worse. Being on the receiving end of the angel's not inconsiderable wrath was an experience akin to being brutally savaged by an unexpectedly vicious feather duster[7].  
"–and we had an _agreement_ , Crowley! I don't come after you with holy water, and you most certainly don't come after me with–"  
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" The demon said for what felt like the tenth time in five minutes, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I swear I didn't know you were coming. I'd never have broken out the hellfire if I knew it was you! I didn't even hit you. I aimed to miss!"  
Finally, his words seemed to get through to the angel, who grudgingly put away his wings and lowered his sword. "If you've damaged my cape–"  
"Right as rain!" The demon said quickly, darting over and picking up the end of it to show the angel. "Not a smudge!"

Aziraphale frowned at the cape, certain he remembered the smell of burning cloth, but a glance at the pleading expression on Crowley's face was enough to persuade him to let it go. "Well that's alright then."  
Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. "So, what are you doing in these parts, anyway?"  
Aziraphale frowned, determined not to let him off completely yet[8]. "If you _must_ know, I came to see what the devil you were playing at."  
Crowley grinned and gestured to the pile of gold behind him. "Isn't it obvious? I'm playing at being a dragon. It's great fun. You should try it."  
"Any particular reason?"  
The demon jerked a thumb downwards. "Orders from downstairs. I'm spreading fear and despondency throughout the land."  
"And all the humans who came to stop you?"  
"Well, I didn't have any agreements with _them_ about not using hellfire."  
"And the," Aziraphale hesitated, "virgin sacrifices?"  
Crowley smiled like a snake. "I get hungry."  
Aziraphale gasped, raising his sword once again. "I can't believe it! I would never have thought— I mean I know you're a _demon_ , but really! There is such a thing as–"  
"Alright! Alright!" Crowley actually took a step back. Aziraphale wondered if maybe he'd overreacted about the cape. "Look," the demon said through gritted teeth, glancing worriedly at the ground as if expecting to see a Lord of Hell rising through it. "Look, if you really want to know, I... sent them somewhere."  
Aziraphale paused. "Where?"  
"I don't know, do I? Just somewhere. Not Hell, not the middle of the ocean or anything like that. Somewhere on land where there's people."  
"But will they be alright?"  
Crowley shrugged. "I dunno. Probably. I sent them off with some of my hoard— I need to get rid of the bloody stuff _somehow_ — and some of the girls at least had good heads on their shoulders."  
"But their families..."  
"Their families who sent them to face a dragon, angel. It's not like never seeing them again is an unexpected outcome."  
Aziraphale thought this over for a moment, then sheathed his sword. "Very well then."  
"So, have you come to thwart me?" Crowley asked. "I could certainly do with the distraction if you want to try. It gets so dull up here after a few decades."  
"I've come," Aziraphale looked up at the sky[9] nervously and lowered his voice, "to warn you. There's a knight coming–"  
"Oh, a knight?" Crowley also raised his yellow eyes to Heaven, although for a different reason to Aziraphale. "Oh gosh, what an _unexpected_ event. Whatever shall I do? How will I, a mere demon, cope against yet another human wielding a sharp metal stick?"  
"Be serious Crowley! He will come at noon tomorrow–"  
"Good, I can have a lie in."  
"Riding a pure white horse–"  
"Oh a _horse."_ Crowley was evidently enjoying himself. "Not a horse! Now I'm really worried! What can I possibly do about a horse?"  
"Fall off it, perhaps?" Aziraphale said testily. "That seems to be your usual course of action when it comes to horses. He'll also have a sword and a shield with a red cross painted on it." he added.  
"No problem." Crowley shrugged. "So long as it's not a crucifix, I'm fine. You're worrying about nothing, Aziraphale."  
"And he will, of course, have _divine aid."_  
"Ah." Crowley's face fell. "That would be..."  
"Yes. Sorry. Normally when I get this kind of mission it's just a big animal of some sort, and half the miracle is getting people to believe the poor thing was worth killing in the first place. But well, I did hear rumours, and I thought I'd better check."  
Crowley sighed. "We've got a real problem then, haven't we?"  
"I'm afraid so, dear boy."

"It seemed like a decent gig when I first got the orders." Crowley said. It was about half an hour later, and they were both sitting in his cave, which was currently lit through miraculous means. "Go sit in a cave and get all the surrounding villages to give you all their gold, then threaten to set their roofs on fire if they don't. Spreads anger, greed, envy," he counted them off on his fingers. Aziraphale had had a skin of water in one of his saddlebags[10], which had since become a skin of wine, and if there was one thing Crowley was not lacking in, it was golden cups. "All at once. And that's not even counting all the other bad stuff they're doing because they're afraid and miserable. Desperate people..." he shook his head.  
"I'm impressed–" Aziraphale quickly backtracked, "I mean, not impressed. Obviously not, I meant horrified, or..." Crowley rolled his eyes, leaned over and topped up Aziraphale’s cup of wine. "Well, anyway," the angel continued, "I'm... surprised that you managed to get all this gold out of just a few villages. I wouldn't think they'd have had so much."  
"They didn't. Most of it's miracled, or taken from Hell's store. It's the look of the thing, y'know. Got to have a hoard." He patted a nearby pile, dislodging a few coins and causing a minor avalanche that sent several larger objects falling down, hitting Crowley on their way. "Ow! Stupid things!" He turned back to Aziraphale. "You _could_ let me win."  
Aziraphale looked indignant. "Absolutely not."  
"Oh, come on." Crowley leaned over, looking the angel in the eyes. "Just this once, eh? After all, I let you off over that whole thing with the Black Knight."  
"Because you had no idea how to win a real sword fight without miracles."  
"I– I didn't– I did not–" Crowley felt his face go red. Stupid, traitorous human form. He never had this problem when he was a snake. "I could _totally_ have beaten you in a sword fight," he lied, "easy peasy. No problem."  
He thought Aziraphale might have rolled his eyes at him. "Right. Of course. How silly of me."  
"I could! That was a good sword, angel. Very expensive, very well-made— you could win a lot of fights with a sword like that."  
"Not the way you were holding it, my dear."  
There was pause, while Crowley considered sulking, before deciding that there wasn't really enough time for it and having some more wine instead[11].  
"You could let _me_ win." Aziraphale suggested.  
"Oh, oh of course," Crowley said, "great idea Aziraphale! I'll just roll over and let this bloke stab me through the heart, shall I? Thanks."  
"He wouldn't necessarily have to kill you."  
"Yeah, that'll work. St Whatsisname–"  
"George."  
"St George and the dragon he told to sod off but otherwise left unharmed. A story to be told down the ages! Your lot would never go for it. My lot neither as a matter of fact. I'm supposed to stay put."  
"We could sort something out. After all," Aziraphale said, "I can't believe you _like_ being up here."  
"S'alright." Crowley took another swig of wine. "S'not bad."  
"On your own? Having to... dispatch everyone who comes to see you? Nothing to look at but gold and rocks and sky?"  
"Sss'good to get away from the humansss for a bit." Crowley said, hoping that Aziraphale hadn't noticed the way he was hissing his sibilants. Maybe he could put it down to being drunk.  
"Cramped up in this damp cave night and day." Aziraphale continued, mercilessly. "Wearing something that even I can tell is about a hundred years behind the latest fashions[12]. Nowhere to buy a decent drink." Crowley quivered, Aziraphale kept on going. "You know there's a pub down there, in that little village. Named after you as a matter of fact. Dragon pub. Very popular, looked quite nice."  
Demons aren't very good at resisting temptation[13] at the best of times, and this one had just spent the last century lurking in what he thought might just be the most boring cave in England[14].  
"Fine." Crowley said, with what he was well aware was more of a hiss than a sigh. "What's the plan?"

The next day, Aziraphale stood anxiously at the top of the hill again. It would work, he kept telling himself, almost offering up a prayer to the Almighty before remembering that this was one occasion when he absolutely did not want Her watching over him (at least not too closely). George had come along behind him and was just tying up his horse next to Aziraphale's.  
"Don't seem to be many dragons up here," he said, standing beside the angel. "You sure you've got the right hill?"  
"He– _it's_ just in the cave up there." Aziraphale pointed it out to George. "May I suggest we make this quick? Not too much of a fanfare? Modesty _is_ a virtue, you know." he added hopefully.  
"Bah! Nonsense!" George shook his head. "No point going around slaying dragons if you don't put on a show. You did say there was a princess involved?"  
"Over there. Chained to that rock."  
George looked over. The princess didn't seem to have noticed them. She was fiddling around with one of the padlocks by her hands. "Nice looking girl," he said. "Chosen by lottery, wasn't she?"  
"Yes. Insisted on putting her name in with the others. Do you want to... I mean, under the circumstances— do you want to go over and talk to her?"  
George shrugged. "No point. There'll be plenty of time for talking after we're married."  
Aziraphale looked from George to the girl, and felt intensely sorry for her. After several days journey on the road with George, he pitied anyone who had to spend the rest of their life with him. Last night had been the first decent conversation he'd had in what felt like an _age_.

He walked over to the princess himself, both to offer what little comfort he could to the poor girl and as an excuse to get away from George. "Er... coping with it alright, are we?" he said.  
The girl looked up from her padlock. "Are you that knight everyone's been talking about?"  
"No, sorry. That's him over there with the red and white shield."  
"Ah, so you must be his divine aid."  
"Yes. That's me." Aziraphale was conscious that George was currently standing around staring into space—an activity that seemed to be a major hobby of his, but didn't really come across as obviously heroic to an observer. He felt the need to big his human charge up a bit. "He's very good." he said. "He's er... meditating. Yes, meditating. Does it before a battle, very good for the mind, helps him concentrate."  
"What does scratching his arse do?" the princess asked.  
Aziraphale floundered. "Er... ah, well... look, you mustn't worry–"  
"I'm not." The princess turned back to the padlock. "He's going to win. Otherwise you wouldn't be here, would you?"  
"I mean–"  
"You never hear about people showing up with literal angels and then losing, do you? Unless it's a martyrdom. And this isn't that kind of story."  
"Story?" Aziraphale was beginning to regret not sticking with George.  
The princess rolled her eyes. "They don't let you do much when you're a princess. It's mainly just embroidery, dancing practise and being introduced to various suitors." This last was said with particular disdain. "But the castle does have a big library. I _know_ how stories work. When a beautiful— and yes, I know that as well, I have mirrors, and there's no use denying it— princess is chained up awaiting the jaws of a fearsome dragon, then the handsome knight in shining armour who comes to rescue her can't _not_ win. Especially with divine aid."  
"Oh." Aziraphale wasn't quite sure what else to say. "Jolly good."  
"Only nobility though." The girl looked up from her padlock again. "Have you noticed that?"  
"Nobility?"  
"Yes. It has to be a princess. Or a queen, or possibly a prince, but princesses get the best results. Honestly, if they'd just put my great-great grandmother up here when all this began, it would have saved a lot of hassle. The dragon would have been defeated within a week."  
"... Possibly."  
"But it's so unfair, though, isn't it? I mean, you're an angel of some sort, aren't you?"  
"Principality." Aziraphale said, wishing fervently that he was anything and anywhere else. The girl kept on staring at him like he was some sort of specimen in a jar.  
"So why is it that God seems to focus so much on the noble classes? In fact why even have a system where some people are placed above others simply because of who they were born to? Why allow such a system to develop? How can you hold people fully accountable for their actions if they're born into systems they can't change that push them into certain roles?"  
"Well... er, I mean... my dear..." Aziraphale trailed off, feeling flustered. He was beginning to think that it would have been better if he and St George had shown up a bit later, and left the girl for Crowley to deal with. He had a feeling that the two of them would have got along rather well— but as she said, this wasn't that kind of story. "It's ineffable." he said at last, holding up his hands. "And before you say anything else, that's the only answer I'm allowed to give. I'm an angel. We don't really question." It came out as more apologetic that he would have liked, but at least the girl seemed to accept it. She went back to fiddling with her padlock, twisting her wrists around to reach it, and grunting every few seconds as the chains rubbed or twisted against her.  
"What are you doing?" Aziraphale asked eventually.  
"Trying to... ghk... pick this... nkk... lock." The girl said, concentrating. "I've got a... kkh... hairpin... argh!" she untwisted her arms and relaxed her wrists, which were now rubbed red and looked very sore. Aziraphale leaned over and discreetly healed them for her.  
"Thank you," she said. "I don't suppose you could loosen these chains a bit? They're really, really tight."  
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I couldn't possibly." he replied, as they both watched the chains snaking away from each other under his hands, until the princess had enough room, if not to escape, then at least to breathe more easily. "I thought he couldn't lose." he said. "Why are you bothering to escape?"  
"Let's just say I'm not so stupid as to put all my faith in stories." she said. "Besides," she shot a disdainful glance at George, "if I get out now, I might just be able to make a run for it before anyone forces me to marry him."

As George approached the mouth of the cave, Aziraphale began to feel like it might turn out alright after all. George himself probably wouldn't pick up on it if he was struck by lightning, and while the girl seemed more intelligent, he somehow had the feeling that she could be quite good at keeping secrets. The villagers were all staying at the bottom of the hill. So long as their curiosity didn't get the better of them, there wouldn't be any more witnesses. George had gone up a hill that had a dragon on it, and would later come down one that was conspicuously dragon-free and nobody would know that it was because the real one had slithered off, rather than having been horrifically slaughtered. Just so long as they did this quickly and quietly and— at that moment Crowley flew out of the cave, and Aziraphale groaned aloud. Never mind. Trust the stupid serpent to try and go out with _style_.

Crowley was having fun. Proper fun, not just scaring the pants off the odd knight in shining armour, the first he'd had in ages. He spread his wings, casting a shadow that seemed to cover the whole hill, and smiled at the angel in the corner with the disapproving look. If this form had come with eyelids, he would have winked. As it was he hissed menacingly and reared up so that he towered over his foe[15]. "Who daressss challenge me?"  
"I do!" St George said, waving his sword in a gesture that he probably thought made him look dashing and heroic, but actually made him look like a twat.  
"Then let'ssss fight!" Crowley hissed, and so the dance began.

By the time the villagers had made their way up, one by one, to the top of the hill— attracted by the loud hissing and the massive winged thing they'd just seen flying over it a few moments ago[16]— the fight was well underway. Everyone agreed that it was quite a good fight, as fights went. Brave Sir George was very handsome— as far as anyone could tell under his armour— and the princess was pretty as ever— if a bit disheveled-looking, but that could probably be excused, given the circumstances. The divine aid was a bit of a disappointment, but then perhaps all that standing around in the background was just him gearing up for a proper display of lightning and thunderbolts at the end, and the dragon certainly made up for it. The wyrm was jet black, with gleaming scales and yellow eyes, and it writhed around St George in a most terrifying manner, dodging around his sword and breathing fire into the air[17]. As time went on, however, the villagers could tell that St George had the foul beast on the run. It seemed to tire, and kept glancing at the crowd as if looking for a way out, and then shooting desperate looks at the divine aid, who wrung his hands and shook his head in what was probably some holy gesture of judgement.  
Finally, the creature's distraction proved to be its downfall, as St George caught it off guard while its head was turned and plunged the sword into its back. There was a great cry from the dragon[18], as blood poured like wine from its flank and it shuddered and shook in its death throes, before all at once vanishing into thin air. A mighty cheer went up for St George, and the king, who had arrived with some of his guards a few hours into the battle, offered to stand his new son-in-law and all his friends a drink at the pub. The princess was freed and followed them down the hill with a rather resigned expression, although surely that was just tiredness, and she would soon no doubt realise her good luck and become just as excited about the wedding as everyone else was. And if anybody noticed the much smaller snake that appeared on the spot where the dragon had vanished and slithered off frantically into the bushes, then they didn't mention it.  
It didn't make for nearly as good a story.

Later, if anyone had stayed behind, they would have heard rather a lot of noise coming from the top of the hill.  
"Crowley? Crowley! Are you alright?"  
"Yes, angel, fine. I love bleeding to death in the bushes."  
"Just hold still–"  
"Argh! Watch it!"  
"Well you have to stop wriggling!"  
"I'm a snake, it's what we do! And it bloody well _hurts!"_  
"Sorry. Give me a moment. I promise it won't hurt for much longer if you just let me–"  
"You try being patient with a fucking great hole in your–" there was a sudden sigh of relief. "Thanks angel."  
"Least I could do." Twigs cracked and bushed rustled as somebody was helped rather clumsily to their feet. "There. Fancy a drink?"  
"I thought you'd never ask."

The landlord was surprised and unexpectedly pleased to meet the stranger again, though it took him a moment to recognise him without his armour. "Didn't go up the hill after all then, did you?" he said when he saw him. "Just as well."  
"What?" the stranger looked puzzled. "Oh, er, no. I went to see my... acquaintance instead."  
The stranger's acquaintance turned out to be a man even stranger than he, dressed like somebody's very rich granddad and wearing a pair of odd, dark-tinted spectacles. But he flashed a heavy snakeskin purse filled with gold coins, and ordered "the strongest, most expensive drink in the house, and a lot of it", so that was alright then and just went to show, it takes all sorts and you shouldn't judge a book by its cover[19].  
Business was slow that day, everyone else was visiting that smug bastard at the King's Head and getting pissed with the new heir to the throne. The landlord was quite happy to spend his day sitting by the bar, sending bottle after bottle to the two men in the corner, who seemed awfully chatty for mere acquaintances. He was quite sad to see them go, come closing time, though they left a very generous tip[20].  
"I suppose I'll have to change the sign now." he said dolefully to the second stranger, while the first one busied himself with his horse. "Not much point being the Dragon Pub if there isn't a dragon anymore, is there?"  
The other man nodded, grinned, and without warning pulled down his spectacles. "How about a ssssnake then?" he hissed.  
Before the landlord could answer, the man had run cackling off into the night, followed very quickly by his friend, whose voice carried on the air behind him. "Honestly Crowley! I can't take you _anywhere_ , can I?!"

1 Things were always... not safe, but safer, in the early mornings. The foul beast apparently liked a lie in. So did the villagers, after they'd seen what happened to those who woke it up before 10 o'clock.[return to text]

2 Although the price of their armour was usually enough to cover the damages.[return to text]

3 The landlord revised that, considering the state of the armour, and of the horse he was sitting on. Like the way the people he probably paid to clean his armour or muck out his stables might have talked about it.[return to text]

4 One could almost feel grateful to the dragon, if it weren't for the... other things, the surrounding villages had had to put up with.[return to text]

5 The landlord fervently prayed he wouldn't. He had enough to be coping with, without ghosts showing up.[return to text]

6 Suddenly much emptier[return to text]

7 Complete with actual feathers, since the shock had caused him to manifest his wings.[return to text]

8 The hellfire may not have killed him, but being so close to it had given him a mild headache that it was going to take a few minutes to heal.[return to text]

9 Technically, Heaven is always watching. However, thankfully for Aziraphale, watching is not always the same thing as paying attention.[return to text]

10 Mainly for the horse, and for any thirsty travellers he might meet on his way.[return to text]

11 It's amazing how much wine can be poured out of a skin by two celestial beings who are just drunk and distracted enough to have forgotten how much it's supposed to hold.[return to text]

12 Crowley suppressed a shudder. If _Aziraphale_ thought his outfit looked dated, then he probably looked like he'd just stepped out of a myth or something. It had been a while since he'd conjured up any new clothes for himself. Not much point when you're going to be switching them for scales a few moments later.[return to text]

13 Not that anyone would ever get Aziraphale to ever admit that that was what he'd been doing. Temptation? Heavens no! Persuasion, perhaps, dear boy— or conversion, to a different point of view through the use of certain... incentives. But temptation? Never! Perish the thought![return to text]

14 It wasn't. But an expert could have told him that it was indeed in the top five.[return to text]

15 There had been some discussion with Aziraphale has to how large he was allowed to appear if they wanted his defeat to look real. They'd eventually settled on ten feet long so, in true demonic fashion, Crowley was eleven feet.[return to text]

16 The human tendency to go towards danger— otherwise known as the "hey look at this!" instinct— was in Aziraphale's opinion probably the biggest argument _against_ the human theory of natural selection.[return to text]

17 Noticeably aiming it _away_ from the divine aid.[return to text]

18 And surprisingly, audible only to those standing closest to him, from the divine aid, who looked like he was about to faint.[return to text]

19 Not that the landlord had ever seen a book, much less been in a position to judge it.[return to text]

20 At the first stranger's insistence. "You _said_ you wanted to get rid of it all, Crowley."[return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> So this is set probably just over a century after Crowley stopped being the Black Knight, after he has suggested the Arrangement, but before it has become official (the agreement about hellfire and holy water is a separate thing). Possibly this incident is what gets Aziraphale to agree to it.
> 
> Kudos would be great, any comments would be amazing!


End file.
